The Department Meeting
by lbc
Summary: Conclusion of the story is up. This is definitely slash.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Department Meeting, Part 1

By: lbc

Pairing: Wilson/House

Rating: G

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but I don't

Summary: Wilson remembers various department meetings.

Edward Vogler was gone. Wilson felt like laughing and crying at the same time. As he sat in his usual place around the large rectangular table, there was no hulking menace, sitting at the end of the table, hovering over all of them like the Angel of Death.

Looking at the other end of the table, Dr. Lisa Cuddy's diminutive figure hardly imposed the same threat. Wilson didn't actually blame the other members of the departments for their votes; after all, 100 million dollars was a lot of medical equipment and a lot of staff, but these people who he would have sworn would stand up for House, had failed him. Even Cuddy had knuckled under until the end. That had been her finest hour.

The department meeting had ended. Gregory House MD, superb diagnostician, and major pain in the butt had not arrived until the meeting was almost over. That he had a good excuse was up for debate, but that wasn't Wilson's problem. Vogler's decision to fire Wilson had been just one more skirmish in the war to rid Princeton-Plainsboro of said pain in the butt, but, to Wilson, it had been much, much more.

He had been Gregory House's friend since the university, but House's adamant stand about the speech he was supposed to give, had focused Wilson's eyes onto a whole new House.

Wilson had left when his "lover" had decided it was best for their upcoming medical careers; he had rushed to House's side when his life was threatened by a muscle infarction; he had signed on at Princeton-Plainsboro where House had run amuck for the past several years, and he had stood up for House against the wrath and wealth of Edward Vogler, and all . . . all that Gregory House had said, when confronted, was "It matters."

Wilson shook his head as he looked around at his office. Most of his memories had returned to the walls. The plaques were in place and the mementos of a distinguished career were all snug in their assigned spots, but what did James Wilson really have?

The struggle with Vogler had revealed the real problem that a friendship with Gregory House presented: what was James Wilson getting from the relationship? When he and House had become lovers, they had been younger . . . well, Wilson had been younger; he wasn't sure if Greg House had ever been young - - scruffy, yes, but never young.

That had been the first thing that had attracted Wilson to House. He was older than the usual student on the medical track at university. The second thing that attracted him was the piercing stare of two of the most remarkable blue eyes in existence. The third . . . well, the third was more illusory. House didn't limp then; hadn't been in pain, but he was still the same sarcastic, caustic, didn't-suffer-fools-gladly person whose chief characteristics would later reach epic proportions as he dealt or didn't deal with the infarction.

In those halcyon days as the two men worked their way through medical school, loneliness had been there. Wilson noticed House's brilliance, and House noticed Wilson's . . . butt. It was a meeting of the minds . . . or something, but it had all fallen apart when House graduated and went on his way into his field of specialization. And yet, they had remained friends . . . lovers no longer, but still friends.

Now the very threads of that friendship were badly frayed. Edward Vogler might be gone, but he had done his work well. Wilson had volunteered to resign after the board had found some of its nerve and refused to fire him. Wilson had given up one of the two things that mattered most to him, especially now that his third marriage was on the rocks. What did he have but Greg House and his job, and he had given up one to save the other?

Suddenly, James Wilson felt totally exhausted. He closed his eyes in the cocoon of his office and remembered the recent confrontation. Wilson had been angry. He had shouted at House and accused him of not even caring about anything enough to give a speech, and all that House replied was, "It matters."

That was the real trouble with Greg House: he gave so little of himself and expected others to understand, and yet, why shouldn't he? Hadn't James Wilson always been there?

When House had wanted his body some 15 years before, he got it. When House needed someone to help him get through the devastating days of the infarction, Wilson was there. When House was in danger of being fired by Vogler, Wilson was there to vote no. Why should James Wilson complain about how he was treated, if he was willing to be stepped on and ask so little in return?

Wilson slipped on his suit coat. It had been a very long day. His apartment was lonely and cold, and yet it was a lot more comforting than this hospital and this office were at the moment. Shutting off the light, Wilson left for home, shaking his head at the schlemiel he was. Gregory House certainly had diagnosed James Wilson to perfection - - that is, he had - - until now.

End of part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Title: The Department Meeting, part 2

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: M

Genre: slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but I don't.

Summary: James Wilson misses a department meeting with Gregory House.

James Wilson opened the door to his apartment and collapsed. It was deadly quiet now that his wife had stopped her constant nagging. Another divorce looming on the horizon, Wilson had barely noticed when Julie had walked out, going home to "mother'.

It wasn't the first time that his marriage had ended in divorce, so Wilson was certainly not devastated. No, as he collapsed onto the bluish patterned sofa which his wife chosen in happier days, it wasn't the loss of another wife that was devastating; it was the devastation that his relationship with Greg House had wreaked on his life. 18 hour days, threats of firing, doing battle to protect House and other burdens had worn him down.

As he looked around the room, too tired to even get up and get himself a beer, self-pity set in. Wilson had usually been too busy to feel sorry for himself, but after the last few department meetings, he felt he deserved someone's sympathy and pity - - even if it was only his own.

A small spurt of anger burst forth when he thought about Greg House. The man had not even said, "Thank you," for Wilson's negative vote which had saved his job. House had run to Cameron to inform her of Vogler's departure faster than he had even tried to find out what had happened in the Vogler department meeting. House was so sure of me that he didn't even worry about what happened.

The exhausted man ran his hand over his forehead. He had not spoken to House after the recent board meeting. In fact, since Cuddy had found him, House, and two of the ducklings watching television sometime after the Vogler debacle, he and House had said very little, and to Wilson's surprise, he found that it didn't bother him to any degree. Maybe it was time that James Wilson stopped playing Greg House's game - - stopped being his pawn.

Leaning back on the less than comfy sofa, Wilson closed his eyes briefly then sat up, intending on finding something to eat and then going to bed. Suddenly, he noticed a folded slip of paper near the front door. He must have walked right by it when he had entered.

James Wilson was not the neatest person in the world, but he knew that that piece of paper had not been there earlier. After picking it up, he opened the folded page and read:

Wilson

I have scheduled a department meeting for tomorrow at 7:00 am. Be there!

House

Wilson stared at the piece of paper for several minutes then shredded it into very small pieces, throwing them around the room as he headed towards the kitchen, too tired to even consider why House would be calling a department meeting, involving himself.

The next morning James Wilson entered PPTH ready to confront House for his thoughtless, self-centered behavior. No more was James Wilson going to run in the foot steps of the older man.

At 7:00 Wilson entered the conference room, but no one was there. Oh, great! He didn't bother to tell me that he had changed his mind. No one seemed to know anything about a meeting so Wilson went to his office to begin his day.

By 10:00, he had already seen five patients and counselled two more. He had read chart after chart and had done three consultancies. Strangely enough, he felt better than he had felt for a long time. He, James Wilson could be independent; he didn't have to hang around Greg House to have company. He didn't need Greg House, and Greg House certainly didn't need him.

Finally, he felt that he had accomplished enough so that he could take a break. Getting a cup of coffee, he headed to his own office, feeling another brief sense of accomplishment since he did not seek out House's company as he had for so many other breaks.

Sitting in his amazingly comfortable, leather chair, he sat back and relaxed, thinking about many things, but avoiding thoughts of a scruffy, snarky individual who had caused him so much grief.

A relaxed feeling began to sweep over him, until the man being avoided, suddenly burst into the office with a face that rivalled thunder.

"Where were you?"

That question was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. What was House blaming him for now?

Wilson's cold, brown eyes looked up at the thunder cloud, "What are you referring to, Dr. House?"

"Now, just what do you think I'm talking about?"

When Wilson refused to answer, the blue eyes turned to icicles as the scruffy mouth spelled out, "The meeting, you moron!"

James Wilson sat up quickly and stood up even faster. His glare turned even colder, but he kept control of his voice as he said, "Dr. House, I was here at 7:00 am; where were you?"

House's sarcasm had always been Olympic quality, but in that moment, he outdid himself. "Really, Dr. Wilson, one would think that a man of your medical credentials could get to a meeting on time. I was there, where were you?"

Wilson put his hands on his hips, almost afraid to leave them free, for fear of the neck they might strangle. "I was there; I checked with everyone, and no body . . . NOBODY . . . knew a damn thing about YOUR meeting."

Now a slight look of confusion entered the sapphire blue eyes. In a less belligerent and sarcastic tone, House asked again, "Where were you?" with more emphasis on the where.

Now it was Wilson's turn to look confused, but he proved that he, too, could handle sarcasm. "Well, where do you think, DOCTOR, I was in the conference room!"

Suddenly, the handsome but scruffy face collapsed as he whispered, "Oh."

For a moment, Wilson felt concern for the disappointed face, but quickly he straightened his spine. James Wilson was not going to fall for that again.

"Well, that tells me a lot. Where was I supposed to be for this department meeting?"

For once, House's sad face broadcast insecurity loud and clear. "I . . . I thought you'd understand that I meant we'd meet at Casey's for breakfast, just like usual."

Now it all was clear. Greg House had wanted to have an early morning breakfast with Wilson before they went to the hospital, and Wilson, in his anger, had misunderstood.

"Well, why didn't you say that?"

The younger man knew very well why House hadn't written that in the note: Greg House's social skills were virtually non-existent. He had managed to live his 46 years without seeing the need to be civil - - to almost anyone. You took Greg House as he was or you didn't stay around him, and very few people did stay. Even Stacy Warner, the love of his life, had abandoned him, and probably with good reason. Only James Wilson had been a constant in his life, and maybe Allison Cameron – well, at least, she wanted to be.

Wilson sighed, feeling defeated, regretful, and angry. Looking up at his friend, once again, Wilson shook his head and asked, "House, don't you ever do anything like a normal person? Couldn't you have just asked?"

Now House looked puzzled once again. "I . . . I thought I did."

The younger man wiped non-existent perspiration from his forehead. The small action gave him time . . . time to think before he responded. "Sorry, about missing the 'meeting'. I've had some bad days, and I guess I just wasn't thinking."

House stood looking at his friend. His sad, droopy blue eyes reminded Wilson of a basset hound. House stared for a minute then answered in a soft, hesitant, almost injured voice, "You want to go out for dinner when we get done?"

For a minute Wilson teetered on the edge, remembering his promises to himself about being House's doormat. "Well, I thought I'd have an early night."

"Oh, sure." Wilson felt his heart begin to melt as he saw the sadness in the scruffy face, but then Greg House helped him out by re-clothing himself in his armor of sarcasm as he continued, "You go right ahead. Wife's not home so I can imagine why you're so tired."

Wilson felt himself bristle. He knew in his heart why Gregory House was saying what he was, but that didn't make the heartsick friend feel any better. Why did everything have to be about Greg House?

Wilson's dark eyes turned frozen. Looking deliberately at the clock on the wall, Wilson's voice indicated his displeasure. "I forgot, Dr. House, as the world's greatest diagnostician, you can devote all your time to your patients, but some of us do have lives, and I have made other arrangements for this evening. Now if you will excuse me . . ." Here, Wilson stopped to add extra emphasis to his next words . . . "I am a mere mortal and have no assistants to bully and blackmail into doing my clinic duty; I have to go."

With that, Wilson walked out of his office without further notice of the stunned man with a cane.

End of part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Title: The Department Meeting, Part 3

By: longstrt

Summary: Wilson has a meeting . . . with Cuddy.

As James Wilson walked into the clinic to face his first patient, his stomach was in knots, his eyes were moist, and he felt as if breathing was a struggle. Must be coming down with a cold.

He stopped, rubbing his forehead. You're an idiot, Wilson. You know very well why you're feeling like this. It's not every day that you kiss off your best friend. He looked so . . . I don't know . . . when I said I had made other arrangements.

Wilson stood staring at nothing for a few seconds before he pulled himself together. For the next four hours he encountered almost every disease known to man and some that weren't, but never once during that time did he forget the stricken face of the man that he had loved for almost 20 years.

The day seemed interminable, but it was finally over. Not once since he had stalked out of his own office had he seen House. That wasn't terribly unusual, but the fact that House had not sought him out for one of the thousands of myriad reasons that he came up with in the daily routine of the hospital, was unusual, unless you considered that James Wilson had declared his independence, and Gregory House was going to make him pay for that . . . and pay for that - - DEARLY.

The next three days were just as bad. Wilson was called in to consult, but it was always one of the ducklings who asked for the help. Wilson badly wanted to ask about their sarcastic leader but hesitated to do so. He was not about to sell his new found independence so cheaply. He wanted Greg House's friendship, but it had to be based on mutual respect and equality. So far, Greg House had done all the taking and Wilson all the giving. The handsome, younger man did not dare ask himself why it had taken him almost 20 years to notice the unfairness in their relationship.

Wilson's days seemed to be getting longer. He stayed around the hospital later and later into the evening. He told himself that this devotion to duty was necessary to complete the piles of work being hoisted upon the Head of Oncology. The fact that the lengthier work day also offered Greg House more time to come and apologize for his behavior, was never admitted in Wilson's sinking heart.

The 20 hour work days ceased abruptly, however, with it was learned that the ungrateful and selfish doctor in question was seen - - by, at least, three staff members leaving for home at the unholy hour of 6:00 pm. So much for giving the man a chance to make up with his badly treated friend!

On the fourth day of avoidance, fate in the form of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, took a hand. Like a mischievous hoodlum who had pulled Sally Sweet's pony tail, James Wilson was called to the Administrator's office.

Lisa Cuddy had had her own run-ins with Greg House, and they had been monumental. She had known Stacy Warner, James Wilson and the scruffy one for a long time. She had put up with a lot from House, and even sacrificed $100 million for him, but she had never had any trouble with the handsome man, standing in front of her - - well, never any trouble except the things that Greg House had started and Wilson went along with. Now there was trouble and it was big time.

"Dr. Wilson, will you please tell me what is wrong with Dr. House?"

Wilson stood there stunned. Why is she asking me?

"I haven't seen Dr. House; so I don't know that anything is wrong."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Doctor. You two practically live and breathe together. You visit each other; you gossip together; you watch soap operas together, and ONCE IN AWHILE, you even practice medicine together, but never . . . never do you go three days without seeing or talking to each other - - so I ask again, what did you do to him?"

"That's not what you asked the first time, and why does it have to be me doing something to him?"

Cuddy scrunched up her face in a look of total disbelief, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish. Finally, she found the words she wanted, "Because Dr. Wilson, I am not blind. Gregory House is a sarcastic, opinionated, totally uncontrollable fiend, but he worships the ground you walk on and would do nothing to endanger your relationship."

"Whaaaaaattttt? Are we talking about the same Gregory House? Scruffy, caustic, attached to a cane, blue eyes, doesn't give a damn attitude?"

Cuddy closed her eyes as if she had a headache then she nodded, "Yes, all of that is true, but he cares about you, and you damn well know it. Who else has he let get close to him all these years?"

"Uh, Stacy?"

Once again the dark-haired woman gave a man-sized grimace, "Oh, and is she with him now? Could she stay with him? Didn't he drive her away? Doesn't he always drive everyone away? Everyone, but you, that is."

"Could be I've just been too stupid to go."

"Very funny - - ha ha! Now tell me the truth; what's happened between the two of you, and don't tell me that there's nothing wrong."

Wilson's shoulders fell slightly. "All right, I won't say that, but ask House if you want to know."

"As a matter of fact, I did ask him."

For a moment Wilson stared into Cuddy's eyes, trying to glean the answer without asking, but the almost blank stare gave away nothing.

"Okay, I'll bite; what did he say?"

He looked so strange and then he said something really idiotic, "Wilson doesn't like department meetings. Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"That's all he said?"

"Yes, but he looked so exhausted. I asked him if he was having a lot of pain in his leg. For a minute I didn't think he was going to answer, but then he replied something about his leg not being his only pain."

Once again, Wilson stalled for time then he answered. "I really don't understand Dr. House anymore than you do sometimes. It isn't easy being his friend."

Now it was Lisa Cuddy's turn to stare. Her eyes indicated an intense debate going on within herself but finally she sighed and said, "**Why** are you his friend? What do you get out of it?"

Wilson smiled bleakly, "I've been asking myself that quite a bit lately, and I haven't come up with an answer."

Cuddy nodded her dark locks, "I can understand that. It's not always easy to like the person you love sometimes."

Silence.

Silence continued for several long seconds then Wilson whispered, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Smugness . . . a smirk . . . something crossed Cuddy's face. "All right, Doctor. It's not my business, but you forget that I was here when you came to be with House after the infarction. It took a lot more than friendship to put up with the crap you took from the man during his recovery. Very few friends would have stayed, and you did. I don't think anyone understands what you went through putting Greg House back together again and keeping him alive."

"I . . . I was just here. House did it."

"Yeah, pull the other one. Okay, Dr. Wilson - - whatever. The point is - - what are you going to do now? Are you going to lose him or are you going to fight for him . . . one more time?"

"What makes you think that he even wants me to do something? After all, it works both ways - - he could come to me, you know."

Lisa Cuddy began to shake her head; a look on her face much like a mother would give her stubborn, recalcitrant child. "James Wilson, I give you credit for, at least, being sane. Perhaps your long acquaintance with Dr. House has sent you over the edge but not yet. Here's the bottom line: how badly do YOU want Greg House in your life? Right now, House has all his barriers up; I don't know why, but you do. Only you can get them back down. Is it worth it to you to do what you have to? You've been close for a long time." Here she stopped and held up her hand as Wilson started to open his mouth. "I don't want to hear how close although I have my suspicions. Just make up your mind, Jamie and do it."

Wilson's dark eyes opened wide as he stuttered out, "Ja . . . Jamie . . . nobody calls me that!"

Cuddy's sardonic look covered her face, "Oh really, I could have sworn I heard SOMEONE call you that; maybe HE'S the only one that does so?"

A new look of respect and apprehension entered Wilson's eyes, remembering some of the times that House had called him Jamie, but he didn't protest the name any further. "All right, I'll think about it."

As he was leaving the office, Wilson turned to look at the seated woman as she tried to get in the last word, "Just be sure that you do so pretty quick; I can't have two department heads behaving so childishly for too long, and the child care center refuses to take either one of you in tow. So fix it, Doctor."

Wilson grimaced openly, "Wow, you sure are learning from House, aren't you?" With those words, Wilson made his escape before the diminutive woman could get in a further retort.

Shedding his white coat, Wilson headed out of his office. Now what am I going to do? Wilson sat in his car for several moments before starting the ignition and heading towards the inevitable.

End of part 3, one to go.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: The Department Meeting, part 4

By: lbc

Rating: Mature adults

Genre: slash for words, not actions - yet

Summary: Wilson goes to see House.

James Wilson pounded on the door to Greg House's apartment, figuring that pounding was a good way to keep his hostility high. If the maniac behind the door proved to be his usual "warm" self then Wilson would need every nerve on high alert to deflect the bolts of roaring sarcasm.

Finally, the door opened. The gaunt figure which stood there remained silent, glaring at Wilson with a look that very much resembled someone staring at a maggot picnic. After several seconds House slowly blinked his blue eyes and then said, "Well, if it isn't Dr. Wilson, and just why are you deigning to break down my door after a week of avoidance?"

Wilson bristled but tried to control his temper. "It hasn't been a week **as you well know**!" As Wilson blurted this out, he pushed his way past his friend and entered the apartment. Looking around, he noticed that the living room appeared to have taken a direct hit from an explosive shell.

When House said nothing, Wilson blurted out, "Hmm! Looks like you've been housecleaning again."

"Are you here to pick a fight?"

Wilson's shoulders slumped as he dropped his eyes to the floor. In a whisper, he said, "No."

"Then why are you here?"

Wilson hesitated for a moment then cleared his throat and looked up. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I want to ask you a question."

"Shoot."

The look that Wilson gave the taller man spoke volumes, including a warning not to use that word because it might be taken literally. "All right." Although even then he hesitated for a moment before continuing, "You remember some 18 years ago, when we first met?"

House's blue eyes were puzzled, but he nodded and said, "Go on," as he motioned Wilson to sit down.

"Why did you come over and talk to me that night?"

For a moment House's eyes widened in incredulity then the shutter quickly closed over them. "I came over to talk so that I could get a closer look."

The space between Wilson's eyes wrinkled in a lack of understanding. "I don't get it; get a closer look at what?"

"Your gorgeous butt, of course."

For a moment, James Wilson stood stunned; the words rolling around in his mind; the implications very clear. So Greg House wanted his body, and that's why he had made the overture. Without saying a word, the stricken man stood up and headed for the door.

Just as Wilson was about to turn the knob, House spoke up in a voice that Wilson hadn't heard in almost 18 years, "No, don't." Wilson stopped but didn't turn around. Quite frankly he didn't want House to see his anguished face so he just waited.

Wilson could hear the slight shuffle as House moved towards him, but he held his position. Finally, the scent that was Greg House was hovering near by; the man's presence overwhelming. "Jamie . . . I . . . I didn't mean that."

Wilson turned, anger filling his dark eyes. He continued to stare, saying nothing.

"I . . . mean I did want to see your beautiful butt, but that wasn't why I started talking to you. I had heard about the medical prodigy that was sweeping through the medical school, and I wanted to see if you were real or just a publicity campaign put out by the administration."

Wilson slowly blinked his beautiful eyes then replied with seeming ambiguity, "So you did know I was 18?"

For a moment Greg House said nothing but a light of understanding entered his eyes. "Yeah, I lied to you when I said that I got my kicks out of corrupting a minor."

"Didn't stop you from getting me into bed, did it?"

"No, but as soon as I started talking to you, I realized that I wanted more from you than just your body."

"Well, now that's a strange thing to say. I seem to remember that at the end of the year, you were the big, high and mighty graduate, and you dumped me so there wouldn't be any loose ends (Wilson blushed delightfully as he realized his pun) as you went on with your career."

House's handsome face looked incredibly sad. "I didn't dump your friendship, if you'll recall - - just your body. You still had several years of Med School, and I didn't want to endanger that."

Wilson's eyebrow shot up at this statement. "Oh, so you were just dumping me for my own good, huh?"

House's blue eyes twinkled, but he tried to put on a look of remorse. "You know me better than that. I . . . dumped you for both of our good. I was going away to do residency on the other side of the country, and you, genius that you are, still had another two years of Med School."

The two men stared at each other momentarily then House gently removed Wilson's hand from the doorknob. "Come on; we need to talk, and it's my turn to ask a question."

Wilson realized it would be churlish to refuse to abandon the doorway, but he had been in this position too many times before. Greg House was a master at manipulating him, and he was not about to abandon his independence so quickly; therefore, he sat down as near to the door as possible.

A brief smile slipped across the scruffy face as House noticed the gesture. "Okay, Dr. Wilson, will you please tell me why you've been acting so sarcastic and out of sorts this past week? I know my great personality rubs off on people, but you've managed to avoid that fate for the past 18 years, so why am I gettin' all the crap?"

After hearing those words, Wilson was fuming, but he held back the bitter words that were demanding to be let loose. Trying to keep his voice normal, he asked, "Why is it that you always take, and I always have to give?"

House dropped his head, looking at the carpet for a moment. "That's the way I am - - I'm a taker. Don't tell me that surprises you after 18 years?"

James Wilson stood up so fast that he felt faintly dizzy. "It's always about you, isn't it? God, no wonder Stacy couldn't take it. Okay, Dr. House, here's the unvarnished truth. I stuck up for you against that maniacal bastard, Vogler. I knew he was out gunning for you, but I sacrificed my job for you, and all you could say was, 'It matters.' Well, here it is, Dr. House. It doesn't matter to me anymore. I have a good reputation, and I don't need to take out my pain on everybody else. I don't need to use sarcasm to demonstrate to everyone out there that I know more than they do. I just wanted to be your friend, and I guess you can't even give me that. So fuck you!"

Breathing heavily, Wilson headed for the door, but the roar from the wounded human behind him, stopped Wilson cold. "Nooooo!"

Once again House moved towards Wilson's position, but he stopped short almost as if he feared that invading Wilson's space might lose the younger man forever. In a voice so soft, it could barely be hard, House said, "Please, Jamie . . . don't leave."

Wilson felt incredibly drained and tired. He was so sick of all the hurt and despair. He had to get out of there, but his love for the older man held him in place so he tried one more time. "Why shouldn't I?"

Silence.

Moisture flooded Wilson's eyes, but he held back the tears. Greg House was so isolated that he couldn't even make a gesture to stop his best friend from leaving his life. Then Wilson felt a warm hand lift his hand which warm lips touched in a kiss. Wilson turned his head but not his body to look at the individual standing next to him. One solitary tear slid down the scruffy beard to fall on Wilson's tightly held hand.

"I . . . don't understand. Why didn't you ever saying anything before?"

"What did you want me to say? You had your whole career in front of you. I was . . . am ten years older than you. You obviously wanted another life - - that's why you married . . . three times. I was so messed up after the infarction, and I made your life hell."

"But you had Stacy. Why did you chase her away; she's the love of your life."

House attempted a sad smile, shaking his head gently. "You really are a moron, Dr. Wilson. Stacy was never the first team, and she always knew it; that's why she left. I hated her and loved her for making a decision that left me alive but in agony. She knew I needed you more than I needed her if I was to face the future."

Wilson straightened his body. "Don't give me that, House. You did everything you could to drive me away after you woke from the chemical sedation. You didn't want me there, and you damn well did everything to let me know it. I kept telling myself that we were friends, but you made it very clear how much you hated me."

"Then why did you stay?"

Wilson opened and closed his mouth several times. The best he could come up with was, "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Why did you risk everything to save my job?"

"I thought we were friends, but now I know better."

Wilson could tell that the words had shaken House. "I'm still your friend; what about you?"

"You don't want a friend; you want a whipping boy."

"If I had wanted a whipping boy, I wouldn't have fallen in love with you 18 years ago."

Silence.

"Damn you! How dare you say that? You tear me apart, and yet you would do it all over again, tomorrow. You expect me to be at your beck and call. You take my friendship and you use it, and what do you give me - - sex, and 18 years of sterile friendship. That's not the way it works, House. I know I've made a lot of mistakes, especially thinking that marriage might lead to a normal life, where I didn't need you. God, Cuddy was out of her mind to say that you worship the ground I walk on. . ."

Wilson stopped as he saw the anguish on House's face. The agony in the tired voice spoke volumes. "Cuddy said that?"

Concern swept through Wilson. He had never seen his friend looking like that - - not even when he was in agony from the infarction. "She . . . she asked me what was wrong with you. I told her that I hadn't seen you. That's what she said."

House stepped back, swaying slightly. "I guess she did see us that time."

Wilson's face scrunched up into total incomprehension then his face eased into a look of surprise as he realized what House was referring to. "You mean she saw us in bed that time?"

"Good memory, Doctor."

"But you said she didn't."

"I was zonked out on 40 kinds of meds; what did you want from me?"

"Yeah, it took 40 kinds of meds for you to bend even a little bit, didn't it? Well, she knows, but I don't think she's going to do anything about it. I'll make it easy. If you still want to be friends, I'm willing, but there's got to be some changes made. If you can't accept that then . . ." Wilson's throat felt as if it was closing, and no further words could be spoken.

House stood as straight as he could with his cane. Apprehension showed clearly in his enormous blue eyes, "Then what? Is that all you want - - my friendship under certain conditions?"

Wilson felt as if he had missed something in the conversation. He closed his eyes, feeling like he should pinch himself to see if this was a nightmare. Carefully opening his eyes, he noted the pale, distraught features of the man that he had called his friend for almost two decades. "Greg, I don't know what you want from me. I thought we were friends, but these last few meetings . . . I just don't know. You've pushed everyone in your life away from you, and I don't know why. I've waited for four days for you to come to me and ask me why I was avoiding you, and yet you never did. I would say if I were the world's greatest diagnostician that you didn't give a damn whether you saw James Wilson or not. Why did I have to come to you? Aren't I important enough to even make the gesture?"

"I asked you to the department meeting at Casey's. I asked you to go out to supper, but you were the one who was busy."

"And just what was that going to get me?"

"Me, you idiot. I was going to throw myself at you."

James Wilson stood there stunned, not quite sure if House was telling the truth. House, on the other hand, turned slowly and shuffled to the sofa, each step seeming to be a mile in length. Collapsing on the sofa, he raised his blue eyes and looked at Wilson. "Did I ever tell you why I was only graduating from Med School at the ripe old age of 28?"

Wilson moved back into the room, sitting in a large chair, near to House. "No, you haven't said much about your early years."

"I've wanted to be a doctor since I was six. It was all I thought about, but there was no money. I read when I could find time from work. My . . . father insisted that I help him so it wasn't easy, but I read everything medical. I hassled local firemen about their medical knowledge - - anybody was fair game, and then one day my dad told me enough was enough. We couldn't afford college, let alone Med School. I pushed everything – my anger, my desires into me and just froze on the inside. Then one day my father had a heart attack at the store. I was there working as usual. I tried to help . . . at least, I think I did, but it was too late. He died. I failed my father in my chosen profession. I keep seeing myself trying to give him CPR and nothing worked."

House rubbed his forehead; his voice just above a whisper. "When my mother got there, my dad was being carted away with a sheet over him. She started screaming and didn't stop until after the funeral - - and most of it was at me. I killed my own father. She was left alone with a murderer, and I damned well would pay, and pay I did with my hands and my work."

"By the time she died six years later, I had enough money and a fairly good scholarship to start college, but I was already 21 so I was well behind the average Med track student. I certainly was the average student for lots of reasons, but what the hell, I got through - - not on the basis of my fantastic personality, but with hard work and being better than anybody else. And then you showed up!"

House collapsed back on the sofa, pulling the Vicodin bottle out of his pocket. Swallowing a pill dry, he closed his eyes and waited. James Wilson sat there staring. What could he say to that? Words of comfort were obviously unwanted. What would he have done if he had faced House's choices? Deciding to stall for time, Wilson asked, "Can I have a beer?"

House merely nodded, letting Wilson get it from the fridge. "Bring me one too."

Wilson appeared in the doorway; his eyes hard. "Like hell, I will. You just took a Vicodin - - you want to kill yourself?"

Without opening his eyes, House responded, "You ought to be a Doctor, Doctor. That was good - - you caught that. Knew you deserved your Magna Cum Laude."

Wilson's handsome mouth grimaced, "Yeah, I'm such a brain that I made you my friend, just shows - - 'too smart, too dumb' or something like that."

"Hmmm! I see you've watched The Professionals too."

Hope died in Wilson's eyes. "Yeah well, I guess I have your response. Thanks so much for the lovely entertainment, Doctor. I would appreciate one thing though. Since you don't want me for a friend, could you please change the name of your Preferred Physician to someone else? Maybe, Dr. Cameron would like the job . . . something tells me that she'd like to strip that 46 year old body to its bare essentials."

Wilson walked to the door for the third time that evening. "Good night."

Greg House continued to lay with his head on the back of the sofa; his eyes closed. He could hear a moan, but it took a minute for him to realize it was his own voice. Dropping his head into his hands, he whispered, "Don't do this, Jamie." A shiver shook the slender frame as he became paralyzed with the pain of the loss that he had just initiated. Why couldn't you have said just one thing to stop him?

The shadows got longer in the room as night rolled in. What would he do without Wilson in his life? He had told him that he had fallen in love with him, and it had made no difference. Wilson had offered friendship, and House had thrown it back in his face by ignoring it. Are you happy now, Greg House? You've finally done it – you've lost everything. Wilson's gone; Stacy's married; Cuddy knows you're gay, and Alison Cameron thinks she's in love with you, and oh yes, you made the top of Edward Vogler's favorite target list. God, what a mess you've made of the whole thing.

The Vicodin was finally doing its work; sleep overcame the exhausted heart-sore man. Too tired to even move he let himself drift off still propped against the back of the sofa.

WH/WH/WH/WH/

Sometime later, House's blue eyes opened groggily. He had heard a noise. Someone was somewhere in his apartment. Although his sinuses were clogged up, he could smell the delicious aroma of steak cooking. A thief breaks in and cooks his own supper?

Starting to get up, House fell back quickly to the sofa when James Wilson walked in with a huge bowl of what appeared to be salad. He put it on the small table that had appeared from somewhere then turned to face House. "It's about time that you woke up. Steaks just about ready so I hope you're hungry."

House sat and stared, blinking numerous times. His brain would not work, so his mouth would not work; finally, he managed to mumble one word . . . "Why?"

Wilson's handsome face looked puzzled as he asked, "Why . . . what?"

"Why are you here?"

"I figured it was time for another department meeting!"

"I . . . I thought you didn't like those."

"I do when the head of the meeting declares that he fell in love with me 18 years ago!"

A small amount of light entered House's previously dull eyes, "You didn't seem very impressed with that statement a few minutes ago."

"Yeah well, I'm slow, sometimes. Dinner's ready; let's eat."

Hesitantly Greg House moved towards the small table. He knew that he had to tread carefully. The next few hours would determine if he would be able to keep the most important person in his life at his side. This was going to have to be one great department meeting.

End of part 4, epilogue to follow.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: The Department Meeting, Epilogue

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: SLASH; mature adults only

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys, but I wish I did.

Note: This concludes the story.

Summary: House and Wilson finally have their department meeting.

James Wilson and Greg House sat slumped next to each other on the uncomfortable couch. House's leg was killing him, and his face showed it, but there was a deeper pain in his body and the cause of THAT was sitting next to him.

The two men's bodies were practically shoulder to shoulder; their hands could have easily touched, but they didn't. There was a tension in the air that had been there for several days. House allowed his head to drop back on the back of the couch while he closed his eyes. James Wilson had fixed a great meal; had helped him wash up the dishes, and then had promptly frozen him out. The fact that the man looked like he was ready to run out of the apartment added nothing to House's security, but then the exhausted, heart-sick man had to ask himself why James Wilson was, at the moment, sitting so close to him?

Forcing his tired body to move, House raised his head and asked, "Well, what shall we do now?"

Wilson rubbed his face. "Heck, if I know; this is your meeting - - not mine."

"Okay, Doctor; how about this? Do you still want to be my friend?"

Wilson sat up, staring into the startling blue eyes. "I already offered that, but you threw it back it my face. I've changed, House. I've declared my independence." Seeing the slight amusement in the blue eyes, Wilson grimaced, but continued. "Oh, I know that amuses you, but if you want me to be your friend; there's got to be some changes made."

House continued to stare then cleared his voice and asked, "And you're saying this because?"

Wilson bristled but, once again, held onto his temper. "I'm saying this, Doctor House because I've done enough for this so-called friendship; what have you done?"

"What do I have to do?"

"Not a damn thing!" As Wilson started to stand, however, a strong hand gripped his wrist and pulled him back onto the couch. James Wilson was completely surrounded by Greg House. He was wrapped in a bear hug that he had not experienced for almost 2 decades.

"Calm down. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I meant - - what do you want me to do to try and get back in your good graces?"

Wilson's body continued to tremble, whether from his recent anger or because of the arms still wrapped around him. After a moment, however, he calmed down enough so that he was able to move a few centimeters out of the range of Greg House's body and the devastating effect that it was having on James Wilson.

"Our friendship has been pretty one-sided. We had sex for one year; then you left and we continued our friendship - - from a distance. You got more and more famous; I got more and more married." Wilson stopped for a moment, sharing a small smile with the man who still held him in a loose embrace. "Then you told me about Stacy . . . I was happy and sad at the same time. I knew that our friendship would never be the same. I liked Stacy . . . I still do. Then she called me about your infarction."

Wilson dropped his head on House's shoulder for a moment as he recalled the terrifying hours when he thought he would lose the man that he had loved for so long. The agonizing months during House's recovery still sent chills through the younger man. "I guess what I want is some respect . . . some equality. Julie kept asking me why I didn't marry you instead of her or some other woman since I kept running out on her to be with you. God, what a fool I was. I hurt all three of them, looking for something that I never found."

Greg House leaned forward to whisper in the ear near his mouth, "Maybe you just weren't looking for the right person?"

James Wilson sat up with frost in his dark eyes. "Now, what's that supposed to mean? You dumped me remember? You had Stacy. You've been quite content with my friendship - - after all, it stopped you from losing your job. So what the hell are you going on about now? My friendship can't be too important to you. I've never even got one 'Thank you'."

House sat back against the couch; his back sending spasms through his whole body. His sad eyes stared back at the younger man. "Why are you bringing this all up now? It's been 18 years; I would have thought I used up all your patience before this?"

"Is that what you want? For me to dump you this time?"

"No." The word was barely a whisper.

"Then, what do you want?"

"I haven't slept much in four days. Would you be willing to continue this department meeting in the bedroom?"

The younger man hesitated for a second, but the humanity in him could see the exhaustion in the older man. Greg House had pushed himself to the edge so Wilson nodded, standing up to help his friend lift up from the couch. House barely made it onto the bed before another back spasm shuddered through his body. Gently, turning the suffering man over, Wilson carefully removed House's jacket and shirt. He began to massage the knotted muscles. For a few minutes the pain was almost unbearable but finally Wilson began to feel the knots relax. Wilson continued to rub, managing to remove House's trousers so that he could massage all the way down the body. He hesitated to massage the damaged leg, but the Vicodin had finally done its job so that Wilson was able to lightly caress the injured leg.

After a few minutes without any sounds from House, Wilson assumed his friend had fallen asleep so he stood up. Immediately House's body reacted. With some difficulty he turned over, now sprawled across the bed with only briefs to cover his body. Lifting his arms above his head, House slitted his eyes into a sensuous look and hissed breathily, "Hey big boy, like what you see?"

Wilson smiled slightly. "Yeah, obviously much more than you do." House looked at the tent that Wilson's trousers were making and then at his own, less than aroused groin area.

"Yeah, that's what the Vicodin does for me. Really takes some encouragement from the right person to . . . uh, get a salute."

"Well, maybe Dr. Cameron will sacrifice herself to give you a 21 gun salute."

For a moment House looked confused then he seemed to see the humor in Wilson's remark. "She's really got you going, hasn't she? Are you still mad that she got to see the Monster Machines and then got that 'date' with me?"

"Well, you did spend a thousand bucks on the Machines, didn't you? You know I wanted to see them, but . . . well . . ."

"You were cosying up with Stacy. weren't you? Did her husband know?"

"You moron, she wanted to talk to me about her husband."

"Oh that makes it even cosier."

"Believe what you want. She knew her husband wasn't well, and she wanted the best . . . the very best to examine him and that's you . . . so she asked me how to get you to do the exam."

For a moment, James Wilson thought that he had ruined everything, but then Greg Wilson surprised him.

"Well, she has good taste in consultants, but lousy timing. I really hoped I wouldn't have to see her for another 40 or 50 years."

"Why do you blame her? She saved your life."

House shivered slightly. Wilson automatically reached over and covered him with a blanket. "I had to blame her. I couldn't blame you. You weren't there, and besides I needed you."

Wilson was so shaken that he almost didn't respond, but finally he whispered, "Why did you need me?"

"That's the trouble with our friendship - - you never listen. I told you. I'm in love with you. How could I blame the man I love? Besides that, I needed you there to make me want to live."

Wilson collapsed onto the bed, just missing House's legs. He sat for a long time with his back to a concerned House. Finally, Wilson straightened up, turning to face his tormentor. "Do you remember the day that you finally woke up out of your sedation?"

"How could I forget that?"

"I stepped outside when Stacy told you what she'd done. I don't know what you said to her, but I saw the result. She looked so pale. I walked back in, but you said nothing. I waited and waited, but nothing; then that night you flipped back the sheet on your bed and invited me to lie down next to you."

"Yeah, I needed you so much that night . . . and every night since then."

Wilson nodded his head, amazed at how blind he had been. "That must be what Cuddy saw."

"You think?"

"It's been a very long meeting, Dr. House. I propose that you get some rest, and I'm going to head on home and do the same."

"You could sleep here tonight."

Wilson's face hardened, "Friends don't sleep with friends."

House's pleading blue eyes stared at the man, standing by the bed, "Is that all you want from me - - friendship?"

"How can I ask for anything more when we don't even know how to be friends?"

Wilson could see the incredible hurt that those words caused, but he was determined to see this through. In his heart, he knew that Greg House was his only true friend, but if he didn't stand up for himself now, he would be lost. He had thrown away three wives over this man. . . No, that wasn't fair. Greg House had nothing to do with Wilson's failures as a husband. James Wilson had been in love with the scruffy faced individual who had caused him such pain and such ecstasy for 18 years: was he now prepared to throw it all away?

"You're right. It's so easy to love you. You're beautiful in face as well as soul. You're the best friend a man could have. I should have told you, 'Thank you' before now, but here it is, 'Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for standing up to Vogler for me. Thank you for caring enough to want me to live.'"

Just as he had done some five years before, the gaunt, exhausted man pulled back the blanket covering him and silently pleaded with the younger man to lie down beside him. For a moment, Wilson hesitated then moved forward. Swiftly removing most of his clothes, he climbed in next to House. For the next several minutes the two men lay side by side in the dark, saying nothing. Finally, House whispered, "Jamie?" With that invitation, James Wilson moved silently into his friend's arms. Within seconds, both men surrendered to their total exhaustion and slept.

Early the next morning, Greg House woke, badly needing to pee. He noticed, however, that the other side of the bed was empty. His heart immediately began to race; his feeling of euphoria that he had slept without further need of Vicodin badly damaged by the fear that Wilson had left, but then he heard a noise in the other room. Getting up slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, but upon returning to the bedroom found a large mug of coffee waiting for him. Smiling, he sat down quickly as his right leg felt as if it would give out. Looking at his clock, he started to get up again to take a shower when James Wilson, clad in House's cleanest robe, re-entered the bedroom.

"You don't have to get up."

"Hmmm! Are you kidding? Cuddy will kill me if I'm late to clinic again. Not that I care, but I can't stand to hear Cameron whimpering when she has to cover for me."

"No, you moron, you're on sick leave."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I called Cuddy about a half hour ago and told her, as your Physician Of Record that I was busy putting you through a series of tests because you didn't seem too healthy. I am going to finish those tests today, and then we were going to have a department meeting to go over the results of all these tests so the end result is that she's given us both the day off. So you don't have to get up."

James Wilson smiled shyly, seemingly embarrassed by what he had done. House, on the other hand, smiled benevolently. In his best WC Fields' voice, he mimicked, "My boy, my boy, you make your father proud!"

"Thanks, Dad. Now, get back in bed. I'll fix some breakfast before I head to my apartment."

Speechless. Greg House was without words. He had slept with his best friend . . . well, slept next to his best friend, and now . . . said best friend was leaving. Fear swept through the diagnostician. "What'd I do, snore?"

Wilson's left eyebrow shot up, "No more than usual. You really should have an ENT check you out sometime."

House grimaced but controlled his fear. "Thanks, but at his prices; can't afford it."

Wilson shook his head. "Oh come on, everybody knows you're well-paid, and you don't have three alimony payments to make either."

"Neither do you since your first two contestants re-married."

"That's just a technicality. I have a lot more expenses than you do, especially paying for take-out and movies when someone comes over and mooches off of me."

"I do not, 'sides you know that all my money goes to pay for my dear, widowed, sick mother in the nursing home and the three charities that I single-handedly help to run."

A snort of laughter burst forth from Wilson's handsome mouth, trying to swallow a laugh, he let out a garbled burst that sounded somewhat like, "Your mother's been in the ground for years."

"Yeah, that's what makes it so expensive - - servicing her in the ground. Man those orderlies really hate that."

James Wilson broke up at that, laughing so much that he was forced to sit on the bed, carefully staying away from House's legs.

After a moment, House continued, his voice now very quiet. "Stop it, Jamie."

Wilson started to turn to face House with the perfect "Innocent Me" face, but couldn't maintain it because he knew what was troubling House. Shaking his brown hair, he couldn't meet House's blue eyes.

"A few years ago, if you had been given the day off, you would have been eager to have your wicked way with me, what's wrong this time?"

"I'm not 18, and you're not 28. We should have learned a lot. Pain and change have thumped us pretty good. It's not just about hopping in bed and having sex. Can our friendship stand another go-round?"

Despair filled the blue eyes, unconsciously the slender man rubbed his leg, "So that's all it was - - sex? God, what an idiot I was. We can be friends and have sex, but we can't be best friends and make love. Okay, Wilson; I'll take whatever you can give me. As usual, I'm taking again. How do you like them apples?"

Wilson's handsome face was screwed up in a frown. Fury seemed to be barely contained in the man. "What the hell are you talking about - - making love? When did we ever make love?"

"You're damn right, Dr. Wilson. I fell in love with you, but every time we got the hots for each other while in Med School, it was sex, plain old S-E-X 'cause you didn't want anything else. So I walked out after one year, holding on to what I could get - - your friendship."

James Wilson sat there, staring. His mind went blank. The only images that his mind could see were the ecstatic moments when two bodies came together in mutual release of passion and caring. Sex - - is that all House thought he was getting. Whispers began to float into the images of declarations of . . . love. The voice was House's. God, did I really not hear them? Dropping his head, Wilson's body began to shake. His throat felt raw and full of pain as he tried to avoid the tears that threatened. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

Finally, he looked up, "I . . . I thought you were just interested in sex. I thought that's what you wanted. I shut out everything else when you walked away. I guess I really blew that."

"Perhaps, a better choice of words, but it does convey some of our activities. Now, what do you want, James?"

Not since their first meeting had Greg House called the younger man, James. It had sounded so stilted, so formal. He had always used Wilson or . . . the oh-so-special - - Jamie. A bewildered look crossed Wilson's face. "I . . . I don't really know. I guess I want you to be happy, and you to be my friend again."

House's armor was in place as he asked, "Again?"

"Yeah, I figure our patience if you've ever had any must be pretty used up, by now. I would like to have a hand in making you happy. You've had a lot of bad things happen, and I would like to see some good things happen for . . . both of us."

"So you want friendship and happiness, is that all?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"No . . . no, it definitely is not."

"Oh."

"Dr. James Wilson, you said you wanted a hand in my happiness . . . well then you're going to have to pitch in, my man. I'm really tired of waiting around for you to be done with your wives. I want to spend my time with you - - when Cuddy doesn't have us working in the salt mine, and I don't want to have to pretend to be some poor helpless patient who needs Dr. Wilson's attention. I'm tired of being the excuse for you skipping out for the evening on wife number 223! I want to be the reason that you come home at night, do you understand, Dr. Wilson? No games, no playing around, and fidelity because if I don't get that, you will regret it. You will regret 'any straying' whatsoever if I have to sick the 3 ducklings on you with all their neuroses and other ad infinitum problems, especially Cameron when she whines and "baby dolls" her way into your heart!"

House stopped, gasping for breath, waiting to hear from Wilson. When he got nothing, he continued, "Well, what's it going to be, Doctor? Are you going to give me the happiness that I so desperately want? Are you going to stick with me through thick and thin? I won't ask about in sickness and in health because you've demonstrated that you're pretty sacrificing there."

Still Wilson said nothing, just searching the beloved face, trying to read every emotion. Finally, House closed his eyes and surrendered.

In a desperate but loving whisper, he replied, "All right, Jamie, no more taking. You are and always have been my equal or my better. You scare me sometimes. I guess that's why, in my own inimitable insecurity, I've always demanded that you prove your loyalty, time and time again, by letting me take, by making you give. Well, no more. I want you in every way that YOU'RE willing to give me. If it's just friendship, then I'll have to accept that, but I want there to be more . . . if you do."

"That's all I've ever wanted. I love you, Greg House, but I want you to know that I like you too. Not too many people have ever said that to me, and I suspect to you as well, but that's what makes us different." Wilson hesitated for a moment then turned towards the bed, removing the less than clean robe. Smiling shyly, Wilson whispered, "You know, Dr. House, you conduct the best department meetings I've ever attended."

The scruffy, tired face smiled. Holding out his hand to draw the younger man into his arms, House kissed the slightly sweaty forehead, "Yeah, and I plan to conduct lots of them from now on, and you better not miss one of them, because I'm telling you straight - - you'll pardon the expression - - I can be a ruthless disciplinarian."

Taking the younger man into his arms, House laid down with the gorgeous body that was his friend. "Shall we discuss this further, Doctor?"

Nuzzling into House's chest, Wilson smiled as he said, "Get ready to fire away, Dr. House, because I feel a 21 gun salute coming on!"

Several hours later the two laid entwined in each other's arms, sated from mind-blowing orgasms. James Wilson was curled around his friend's body; his lips pressed to House's right nipple; his hand gently caressing House's relaxed cock.

House lay there relaxed with his eyes closed - - totally content, the pain in his body subsided to manageable levels. "Hmmmm, I don't think you're going to get even a one gun salute this time, Doctor."

Wilson smiled, gently kissing the aroused nub. "Wasn't tryin' to; 'm pretty worn out myself, but I've been thinkin'. Want to ask you a question."

House lifted his head slightly, peeking at his beautiful lover with one half-opened eye. "Isn't it a little late to be askin' now; should have read up on the subject before you threw yourself at me."

James Wilson raised his head, glaring at the sarcastic man he loved. "Not what I was going to ask."

"Okay, okay, what did your educational time in the johns with the boys miss?"

"You idiot, what I want to know is: do you really worship the ground I walk on?"

For a moment, House lay there silent then a look of disgust covered his face. "Nah, Cuddy's got that totally wrong."

Wilson tried to cover the hurt that spread through his body by only responding, "Oh," but House could see the devastation lurking so he hurried on.

"Why should I worship the ground when I can worship you and that gorgeous butt of yours?"

"Oh!" This time James Wilson smile lit up his handsome face, melting Greg House's heart. Wilson's eager mouth smothered his lover's lips then gently brushed the quiet cock. Hearing a tiny moan from the contented man, Wilson looked affectionately at the man in his arms. "You ever heard the end to Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture?"

"Sure, who hasn't? You mean where all those cannons are going off?"

"Yeah, that's what I meant. Well, how about you and me getting some sleep and then I'll treat you to a cannonade that will make your 21 gun salute look like rain drops on a tin roof."

Greg House leaned over and gently kissed the top of Wilson's head. "Hmm, now that sounds good: make love not war. Much better use for guns."

As James Wilson slid into an exhausted sleep, he mumbled contentedly, "That's a silver tongue you got."

THE END


End file.
